


Keepers of the Sacred Flame

by velveteenshadowboxer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending (???), M/M, Nightmares, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velveteenshadowboxer/pseuds/velveteenshadowboxer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles steps nearer, so close they’re almost touching. Derek goes stiff, scared. Stiles leans over and murmurs in his ear. “Be happy. Take the ride.” He pulls away, steps back. “I’ll be waiting. Maybe we can go around again? Together?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keepers of the Sacred Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags for warnings. Canon-compliant up through Season 3A. Story is not necessarily as depressing as the tags might lead you to believe.

Flashlight beams in the dark turn the forest fog into ghostly wisps of cloud-like matter swirling around as the searchers march in line through the trees. The voices continue to call out with no answer.

Stiles blinks. The row of lights passes by, and the dark shapes of men and women in raincoats slip away into the shadows.

“They’re going the wrong way,” Erica says from behind him, and Stiles jumps.

He stares at her warily. “You’re dead,” he says.

She smiles gently and says, “Do you know where to go?” She takes his hand and rubs her thumb against his.

Stiles looks past her through the break in the trees where the earth dips down and slopes towards the river. Wordlessly he begins to walk, holding tight to Erica’s hand as though she’ll disappear if he lets go. They pass through the old pines and go down to the water.

The moon isn’t out tonight, hidden by clouds, but the mist over the water glimmers as if illuminated by the light of a thousand fireflies. The streaming water froths and churns over the rocks jutting out from below the dark surface. Stiles keeps walking. Erica stays at his side. Eventually they come to a fork where the flow of the river breaks off into separate tributaries. Stiles squints through the fog. He nods to the left. “There,” he says. Erica squeezes his hand.

They walk further and soon come upon the mouth of cave in the side of a hill. The opening is black and tight like the slit of a narrowed eye. Water trickles out from inside and pours down over the rocks.

“Stiles,” Erica says softly.

He swallows, shivers in the cold. He looks down at his feet. “I’m dead, too,” he says after a moment, surprised by how steady his voice sounds, how calm he feels. “This is where I died.”

*****

It’s not hell, this place. Not heaven.

It’s somewhere that both is and isn’t Beacon Hills, a purgatorial state cemented in the reality of all he’s left behind yet also distinctly otherworldly; he’s drifting beyond the veil.

“Boyd was here with me for a while,” Erica says. “It was just the two of us when all the rest of you were scrambling around down there with the Alpha pack. And then one day he just moved on.”

“Moved on?” Stiles says. He pulls at the strings of his hoodie and stuffs his hands in his pockets as the wind whips about him. Erica smiles gently and beckons him with a curled finger. They walk together through the woods in the never-ending dark, passing under the gnarled branches of the dead trees.

“Moved on. Passed on. Finished. Whatever you want to call it.”

Stiles kicks out as thorny vine catches in the fabric of his jeans. “Where to?”

Eric shrugs. “I don’t know. To whatever’s next? Or maybe to nothing. I never really thought much about the afterlife when I was alive, and now that I’m here, I don’t know whether I want it to exist or not.” She takes a left between two crooked oaks, resting her hands briefly against the old bark as she pushes up towards the top of the hill. “But in any case, Boyd’s gone now and I’m still here. I guess I’m just not ready to go. I’m still too scared.” She turns back and smiles sadly. “I didn’t want this for you, but I’m glad you’re here with me.”

They arrive at the plateau of the slope and all the sound drops out of the world. The wind quiets down in an instant.

Stiles peers through the mist and sees a great bonfire lit ablaze in the center of the clearing. It crackles and burns without a sound, but he can feel the warmth even from a distance, and he feels weirdly safe in its presence.

Erica walks closer and sits cross-legged and puts her hands up near the flames. “Come sit a while,” she says. “Don’t think so much.”

Stiles goes, and they sit huddled together under the starless sky.

*****

In his house he feels like less of a ghost than a remnant, a memory. A shadow. He’s barely even there. He just stands and watches, like a fly on the wall.

“He’s been gone five days,” his father says hoarsely, his voice wavering between panic and rage. “We’ve been looking nonstop, and there’s not a single fucking clue where he could have gone.” He grabs Scott by the front of his shirt and shakes him roughly. “Are you _sure_ he didn’t say anything to you? Anything at all?”

Scott looks exhausted and frightened and frustrated, and Stiles can’t tell if the red in his eyes is a magical effect or simply from lack of sleep. “Nothing, I swear! I’ve checked my phone at least a thousand times, and I’ve been trying to track his scent using every shirt that still carries his smell, but it’s just not working!”

The sheriff whirls around and snatches his half-empty glass of whiskey off the kitchen table and throws it viciously against the wall where it smashes to bits and leaves alcohol dribbling down in streaks. “Then try something else!” He’s shaking uncontrollably. “I don’t want to fucking hear about what doesn’t work. Find something that will.”

Scott swallows thickly. “Sir,” he says timidly, “we don’t even know if this is a werewolf thing or not . . .”

“Ha.” The sheriff laughs bitterly, turning and glaring out the window. “Of course it is. It always is.”

He goes silent after that, and Scott backs away slowly, retreating to the living room where his mother is sitting on the couch with Allison and Lydia. Isaac is sitting by himself in the armchair looking nearly as anxious and afraid as Stiles’ dad.

“He didn’t say _anything_?” Scott says slowly, glancing at each of them in turn. “To any of you? About going anywhere or looking into something by himself?”

Allison shakes her head. “I hadn’t seen him for at least three days before he went missing,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Lydia stays silent, examining her fingernails. Only the tightness of the skin around her mouth and eyes betrays how worried she is.

“Nothing,” Isaac says. “He didn’t say anything.”

Scott rubs his hands over his face. “We need Derek,” he says reluctantly. “He knows more about this stuff than any of us.”

There’s a loud noise from the kitchen; the sheriff putting his hand through the wall. Melissa grimaces. She stands and goes to check on him, gently touching Scott’s shoulder as she passes.

“How are we supposed to get in contact with him?” Lydia says softly.

“If we’re lucky, he’s kept his same cell number,” Isaac says, whipping out his phone.

Allison wipes angrily at her eyes and murmurs, “When are we ever lucky?”

In the corner of the room a shadow turns in towards the woodwork and vanishes.

*****

“They’ll never find me,” he says later.

Erica cups a hand around the back of his head and pulls him against her chest. “A lot about our lives was unfair,” she says. “And it doesn’t end when we’re gone.”

Stiles melts into the embrace. “My dad is always going to wonder if I just ran away. If maybe I got sick of everything and left him. He’s never going to know for sure.”

“No.” Erica leans away and looks him in the eye. She shakes her head firmly. “He knows you. He knows you wouldn’t do that to him.”

Stiles chokes on a sob and buries his face against her shirt.

They stay that way until he’s dried out of tears, and then they go for a stroll in the eternal night.

*****

He’s not sure how time works here, or if there even _is_ time.

He never really tires and the sun never rises. Everything drags on, and yet the days and weeks and months roll by like they’re nothing. It all blends together.

He watches from a distance when Derek and Cora return to town to assist in the search, observes as the hunt continues to yield no results and the number of volunteers slowly dwindles. He looks on as the police eventually close the investigation and his father nearly destroys his office in despair. He sees his friends and family go from determined to defeated to devastated to resigned.

He looks away when they put an empty casket in the ground, doesn’t attend his own funeral.

He’s there and also not.

*****

Cora zips up her suitcase. She sighs.

“I can’t stay,” she says eventually. “You know that, right?”

Derek is leaning against the wall of the motel room by the window, arms folded over his chest. He nods. “I know.”

Cora looks up at him. “I feel like I’m abandoning you when we just started reconnecting. And I hate that. It’s not fair and I hate it, but I also can’t stay here. Beacon Hills is poison, Derek. It’s brought us nothing but pain and suffering, and I know for a fact that it’s not _like this_ everywhere in the world. There’s a chance for something better, and I just can't pass that up.”

“And I want that for you,” Derek says quietly. He pushes off the wall, walks over to her. “I wanted it for me, too, but things are different now. They need me here.”

“They need you here,” Cora repeats flatly. “Derek, I’ve been watching you beat yourself up for everything that’s gone wrong in our lives since we were kids, even before Kate. Even when it was just the little stuff. And now, what, you’re going to be the rock for the others to lean on? You’re the grounded one?”

Derek glares down at the floor. “I never expected this to happen,” he says tightly. “Not to . . .” He breaks off, takes a deep breath. “Not to him. This changes everything. They are _broken_ , Cora. Before, I would have agreed with you, I would have said they’d be better off with me as far away from them as possible. I’m the last person who needs to be a leader right now, that’s still true. But I can’t just go. Stiles is gone. Probably dead.”

“I know,” Cora says, and her expression is softer now.

Derek sighs. “You have know idea what he meant to them. What he still means to them.”

Cora’s head cocks to the side. “And what he means to you?” It’s both a question and not, a loaded statement with no true judgment attached. Derek’s face shutters off, goes blank.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” he says after a tense few seconds, and it’s about as honest of an answer as he’s likely to give.

Cora’s hand tightens on the handle of her suitcase. She leans up on her toes and presses a quick kiss against her brother’s cheek. “You know how to reach me,” she says. “I hope things get better for you. For all of us.”

And then she leaves.

Derek goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. He takes a hot shower and dries off, and then checks out of the motel and drives to the old Hale house. He sits on the front steps as thunder clouds roll overhead. His throat is tight and his eyes sting, but he refuses to cry.

*****

It’s not all sadness, Stiles finds. He’s not happy per se, but there’s a certain degree of contentment in this strange place. Fear of death is only really applicable before dying; once you’ve jumped that greatest of hurdles, what’s left to dread?

There’s always the question of what lies beyond this state, but that’s not something that lives with him the way it does with Erica. He doesn’t dwell on that thought.

No, instead he watches with awe and joy and sorrow as his loved ones grow and the seasons pass. The leaves change color and die and fall, covered in snow and returned to the dust. And then everything blooms again. The cycle continues. Rinse, repeat.

His friends look so old to him now, just weeks away from graduating high school. He’s so proud of them all.

Scott has become a leader in a way no one would have ever expected. He’s grown into it, grown into himself. In some ways he’s the same old goofball he always was, but grounded by experience and newfound maturity. Lydia is top of their class (of course), and beautiful as ever. Allison and Isaac have been together for a year now, with everything pointing towards the sort of epic romance Scott had once envisioned for Allison and himself. Strangely, everything seems fine on that front; the hardness of life has made the pettiness and jealousy that tend to define most young relationships seem monstrously irrelevant in context.

Stiles is weirdly disappointed when Ethan and Danny split up, and smug when Lydia breaks things off with Aiden. He doesn’t know what to feel, if anything, when the twins pack up and head to another town. The decent man inside him hopes they find somewhere to belong.

The vengeful voice in the back of his head whispers that they deserve to die for Boyd and Erica.

He never would have guessed it, but Derek being back has been good for everyone; first as a scapegoat to blame, for people to scream at and punch in the chest, then as an ear in which to unload their burdens. Eventually as a friend and a mentor, the sort of father figure he’d always failed at being in the past. A protector when monsters come, drawn by the Nemeton. A brother to seek for advice. Odd how it took Stiles dying for him to start doing things right for a change.

No one really knows about Peter. He sort of drifts in and out of everyone’s business. Stiles knows that he’s plotting something, but it’s out of his hands. There’s no one to warn. He’ll see where that goes, someday.

He worries about his father most of all. The post-shift drinking and late night drives aren’t good for anyone, let alone a man his age. At least he has Melissa checking in on him, keeping him company on weekends when she’s off work. Stiles wishes he could tell her how grateful he is.

He tells Erica how the whole thing feels like a car crash in slow motion. “I can’t look away,” he says. “It’s beautiful and terrifying and I know how it’s going to end, sooner or later, for everyone. And the worst part is there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

She rests her head on his shoulder as they sit by the bonfire. “If it helps, I don’t think there ever was. We never had the power to stop what was coming, even when we were alive. We could prolong the inevitable, change a few details along the way.” She gestures at the fire. “But we all end up here in the end. It’s just how it works, I guess.”

*****

The only thing truly surprising about Peter’s betrayal is that it takes so long to happen. Derek gets the call in the early hours of the morning after graduation day, answers his cell to hear Lydia’s warning.

“It’s Peter. Come now.”

It’s all she needs to say.

The battle ends, strangely enough, in the woods very near the place where Derek last slashed his uncle’s throat and ended his life in revenge for Laura. Scott is staggering, face punched in to a pulp and healing slowly, leaning against a tree for support. Isaac is on his knees gasping for breath while Allison reloads her crossbow. Chris steps forward with his gun raised and Derek says, “Wait.”

Everyone freezes and looks at him. Chris glares, but he relents and lowers his weapon, steps back.

Derek looks down at the huddled mass of fur and skin and snarling teeth that he once called family. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. His mouth feels dry. “I don’t understand you,” he says.

Peter laughs, a harsh sound gurgling up in his throat along with bubbles of blood and saliva. “Spare me the speeches. No need to prolong this.”

Derek’s eyes snap open, blazing in the dark. “I don’t understand! What was the point? Why did you _wait_? Was it just about power? Did you want to make us trust you before stabbing us in the back?” He pauses. “And was it worth it?” he spits bitterly. “Losing us forever this time?”

The crickets chirp and whine in the bushes and the wind rustles in the trees.

Peter grins, teeth stained red and lips cracked, face bruised beyond recognition. “Don’t think for a second this is over, nephew,” he says, his voice warbling in teasing sing-song.

Derek looks away, disgusted. “Chris,” he says. The man steps forward and shoots Peter in the head.

And that’s that.

*****

“I want to see him alone, if that’s ok,” Stiles says to Erica when the woods begin to turn to rot. She nods and goes off to wander on her own, and he heads down the path to where the dirt smells of death.

He walks for a ways and comes upon a dip where the earth is barren and the trees are blown back as if obliterated by a meteor strike. A disfigured and withered tangle of naked flesh and bone lies curled at the bottom of the pit.

“Peter,” Stiles says, and he should feel angry or maybe triumphant, but he just feels sad.

The werewolf turns to look at him, eyes bulging in his skull, skin stretched tight across his face. He laughs. “Good to see you, dear boy.” He winks. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ve come back from worse. I’ve been here before, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Stiles fiddles with his hoodie’s zipper. He chews on his lip. “So . . . you’re, what, going to perform some more dark magic? Resurrect yourself again? Hope you can kill them all before they kill you a third time?” He slides down the slope, stopping halfway to the bottom. He crouches, looks Peter square in the eye. “And you will have to kill all of them. They’re never going to trust you again.”

Peter smiles mildly. His teeth gleam, looking shiny and sharp. “I’ll manage.”

They stare at each other, unmoving. The branches tremble above them.

Stiles stands. He walks closer and extends his hand. “I saw something in you,” he says quietly. “Before. After you came back that first time. I didn’t trust you and I didn’t forgive you, but I understood. As much I as I could, I understood why you are this way.”

Peter takes his hand slowly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He allows himself to be pulled to his feet, knees wobbling shakily. He looms threateningly, but Stiles doesn’t flinch.

“You’re smart and crazy enough to go back if you really want to, I don’t doubt that for an instant.” He sighs. And shrugs. “But what’s the point?”

After a brief pause, he turns on his heel and walks away, ascends the hill. Peter snorts.

“That’s it? I expected a better speech, quite frankly.”

Stiles glances back at him. “In Beacon Hills there are people you want to kill. And the people you’ve chosen to kill for are gone. They’ve moved beyond. Wherever that is.” He looks away. “Give some thought to what you’re really after here.”

*****

From the safety of the bonfire, Stiles can see the dark shadow lurking in the woods below, scheming and plotting and roaming about. It’s restless, the beast.

He and Erica stay together, and they watch the woods turn more and more to rot.

Until eventually the decay fades. And then disappears.

Stiles goes down to the water and looks across, and in the midst of the darkness he sees a shimmering and radiant light beaming out from behind some thick shrubs on the other side of the river. And then he sees a young man, well dressed, walking trance-like over the ground towards the source of the light, a private smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

The man reaches into the clump of vines and leaves and forces his way through, steps out of sight. And then he is gone.

Stiles returns and finds Erica. “Peter left,” he says. “He moved on.”

She nods. “Whatever you said to him must have worked.”

He shakes his head. “He knew what he really wanted. He just needed a push, that’s all.”

*****

Three weeks after the police officially called off the investigation into Stiles’ disappearance, Derek began rebuilding the Hale house. It’s a project he’s kept up over the past couple of years, working slowly. It’s symbolic as much as it is practical; something physical to fix up while he irons out the flaws in his personality.

He doesn’t remake everything the way it was when he was a child. For some reason, it’s deeply important to him that this house is truly his. His now, not his then. Something different. A fresh start.

And yet for all its newness, there is still a haunted feeling that lurks within these walls. Derek wakes some nights in a cold sweat and can almost swear he sees a dark figure standing in the corner of his bedroom; a male form in a red hooded sweatshirt. He’ll blink once and the image will vanish, but he’s never able to get back to sleep. Even during the day, there is often a creeping sensation that runs up the back of his spine and prickles at the hairs on the nape of his neck.

It frightens him, but it’s also curiously comforting in a way he can’t explain.

He talks to Scott about it eventually, late in the summer before the pack is scheduled to go off to their various colleges.

“I feel like I’m never alone,” he says, trying to explain. “And it’s like I’m being watched, which makes me nervous, but I also feel less lonely, which is . . . good, I think. Because I’m tired of being lonely.”

Scott smiles sympathetically. “I’m hesitant to just dismiss this as something in your head, considering our history of crappy luck, but as long as this is making you happy, I’m all for it. You know, until it turns out to be a vengeful spirit that tries to murder you in your sleep.”

Derek snorts into his coffee. “Did you ever envision us ending up as friends?” he says thoughtfully. Scott smirks and takes a sip from his own mug.

“Nope. You snuck up on me, buddy.” He grabs Derek’s wrist playfully. “Glad you did, though.”

*****

The nightmares start in the fall, after the pack has left for school.

Derek finds himself standing knee-deep in churning waters that turn thick and black like oil and smell of blood. The trilling of nightbirds echoes all around him, and in the distance he can see the yawning mouth of a cave.

This is the point where he wakes; the dream is the same every time.

He drags himself out of bed and soaks in the bathtub with a hot washcloth draped over his forehead. Then, struck by an impulse, he gets out and dries off and dresses, and drives to the Stilinski house at 3:45 A.M.

The sheriff is still awake.

“Hale,” he says, frowning. He opens the door wider, inviting him in. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to see you,” Derek says, feeling awkward. He stands in the middle of the living room, unsure if he’s allowed to sit or not. “We haven’t talked much since . . .” He trails off. “It’s been a while.”

The sheriff stares at him. His mouth draws into a thin line. “Scott still comes around,” he says after a minute. His expression is hard, but his voice is mild. “Melissa and I are close. I see the others sometimes, actually.” His shoulders lift and drop in a shrug that’s so Stiles-like, Derek is nearly overwhelmed by a surge of emotion. “Point being, I have a fair share of people keeping tabs on me. You’re not obligated to be amongst them.”

“I miss him, too,” Derek blurts out, and it’s the wrong thing to say because the sheriff’s expression turns colder than ice water, so he hastily amends, “I’m not comparing. Your pain and mine. They’re not the same, I know that. I’m not. I don’t.” He swallows. “I don’t know why I came here. I’m sorry. I should go.”

The older man looks at him carefully, eyes piercing, judging. He motions towards the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

Derek shakes his head. “I can’t get drunk.” The sheriff snorts.

“Right. Werewolves. Yeah.” He goes to the cabinet and opens up a bottle of whiskey, pours himself a glass. “I’m having one. Help yourself if you want.”

Derek sits in the armchair. The sheriff stands by the cabinet and drinks. They don’t speak for a while.

And then Derek says, “We all miss him, but you and I feel responsible. And no one else understands that.”

The sheriff’s hand tightens around his glass. “You weren’t even here when it happened,” he says gruffly, dismissive.

“That’s my point.” Derek looks down at his shoes. “If I’d been here . . .”

Stilinski turns sharply, fixing him with the sternest look Derek’s ever seen. “Don’t even try diving down that rabbit hole. You’ll never dig yourself out, believe me.” He sets the glass down and gazes blankly at the wall. “Sometimes I think it would be easier if I just knew what really happened. If I could know for sure that he’s really dead, not off somewhere lost and hoping I’ll find him someday. And then other times I’d rather cling to the small hope that he might still be alive out there.” He shakes his head. “Leave the self-blame for me, kid. There might be plenty to go around, but I’m greedy and I don’t want to share.”

Derek closes his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says.

The clock chimes as it strikes four.

*****

Down by the reflecting pool in the forest of his mind, Stiles looks back on the memories of his life.

His first birthday, his mother’s smile, his father’s bad TV host impressions. Meeting Scott and bonding over comic books and general social awkwardness. Seeing Lydia from across the classroom and falling madly in love before he even knew what love meant, then later falling in lust, and then out of love, and then becoming friends without feeling like it’s settling. Being jealous of Allison, then scared of Allison, then friends with Allison.

And Derek.

He looks away. There’s too much longing in that place, too many dreams unfulfilled.

In a weird way he regrets nothing about his life except that one thing. That one chance he didn’t take.

When he dwells too long on those thoughts, he feels incredibly alone.

*****

And then one day Erica goes for a walk on her own and never returns. And Stiles knows that she’s moved on at last.

And then he truly is alone.

*****

Scott gets out for winter break a week earlier than the others. He shows up on Derek’s doorstep with a wrapped gift and a piece of unexpected news.

“Isaac and Allison are engaged,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. Derek stares.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Scott thrusts the package into Derek’s chest and shoves his way into the house. “It’s official and everything. She proposed to him. Really romantic, from the way he described it.”

Derek shakes his head disbelievingly. “You’re ok with this? _Really_ ok?”

Scott smiles at him. “I’m thrilled,” he says sincerely. “She and I are long done, dude. I’m happy for them.”

“It’s pretty soon in their relationship,” Derek mutters. “They’re still so young.”

“Hey.” Scott scowls at him. “Don’t you dare be a downer when they tell you about it. You’re gonna smile and pretend to be surprised . . . because, uh, technically I shouldn’t have told you before they did, and you’re going to be happy. This is a _happy_ thing.”

Derek sighs. He forces a smile. “I _am_. It’s great. I’m glad. I just hope they’re not rushing into this.”

Scott huffs dismissively. He unzips his jacket and tosses it on the couch. “Whatever. Haven’t you been in love before? It’s stupid and crazy, not based on logic. If you have a chance for happiness, you should go for it, right?”

Derek’s stomach churns. He looks away. “Right.”

“Good. Now let’s watch some TV.”

*****

They all gather together on Christmas day at Scott’s house for a small party, the pack and the sheriff, and also Danny, who was let in the know sometime shortly after graduation.

“So what’s new with you and Papa Stilinski?” Scott says slyly, poking his mother in the ribs. “Double wedding, anyone? Double wedding?”

“No,” Isaac says loudly from near the tree. He shakes his head vigorously. “We’re not doing that.”

Scott shrugs. “Whatever you say, buddy. It’s your special day.” He leans in to whisper conspiratorially in Derek’s ear. “So uptight. So traditional. Such a girl.”

Lydia flicks him in the ear as she walks by. “Don’t be sexist,” she scolds. She wraps an arm around Derek’s shoulder and smiles sweetly. “How are you, darling?”

He smiles back. Scott continues bugging his mom.

“Sooo? How about it?”

Melissa blushes, slaps his hand away. “Stop it, Scott. Mind your own business.”

Scott pouts and Lydia laughs at him. Allison comes over and drags Scott away to talk in the kitchen.

“I Skyped with Jackson last week,” Lydia says to Derek. “He said to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “He did?” he says doubtfully. Lydia nods.

“He’s done a lot of growing up since he moved. You two would probably get along now.”

A loud popping noise makes them both jump, and they turn around to see Isaac cursing over a foaming bottle of chardonnay. “Damn it. Sorry, guys!”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I’ll get paper towels.”

“Food’s ready!” Danny calls from the dining room.

As they’re all seated together and digging into the chicken, Derek feels a familiar tightness in his chest. He’s overwhelmed by the love of his friends, the new family he’d never dared to hope for. But all he can focus on is the one empty chair.

The sheriff looks at him from across the table, as if reading his thoughts. They share a moment of silence, just the two of them, before putting on a smile and rejoining the conversation.

*****

One night in mid-February, Derek opens his eyes and finds himself lying in the snow in the woods outside his house. He stands and shivers, feeling calm despite the cold. Through the trees he spies a flash of red fabric, and his heart skips a beat.

“Hello?”

His voice echoes. The color disappears.

He takes a step forward, grimacing when he realizes that he’s barefoot. He walks further into the forest. Another flash of red up ahead.

He begins to run.

He chases the specter until his legs grow numb, and he drops to his knees in defeat by the frozen river.

_Derek_.

He goes still. It’s not a voice he hears. There’s no sound. They’re words appearing inside his head that are not his own thoughts; another’s mind invading his private space.

He looks up and sees it again: red. A figure in a hoodie and jeans standing at the fork of the river. It turns away and takes the path to the left, slowly fading from view.

Derek feels a surge of panic. “Wait!”

He scrambles to his feet and runs along the riverbank. The slapping of his feet against the hard ground reverberates in the soundless woods.

He skids to a halt. He sees the cave, the one from his dreams. The hooded figure is crouched in the blackness of the entrance.

_Derek_.

*****

“You’ve had dreams like this before?” Isaac says eventually.

Derek rubs his forehead. “Not like this,” he says, adjusting the cell to his other ear. “This felt so real, I was completely disoriented when I woke up.

Isaac hums thoughtfully. “Have you tried medication to help you sleep? Or, you know, therapy?”

Derek frowns. “You seriously think this is nothing? After all we’ve been through, this is just a coincidence.” There is a long pause after that. Derek looks at his phone to make sure the connection wasn’t broken. “Hello?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Isaac says carefully, “but you . . . for whatever reason, you took things harder. Than, uh, the rest of us. When Stiles . . . you know.”

“. . . Ok.”

Isaac lets out a slow, unsteady breath. “I just think maybe you should talk to someone. Like, really talk to someone. About feelings. Which I know you hate to do.”

“I’m not crazy, Isaac.”

“And I never said you were! I just think maybe you’re having a more difficult time moving on because you’re . . . you.”

Derek glares at the wall. “Yeah. Great. Good advice, thanks.” He hangs up.

He looks out the window and gazes through the trees. It’s dark out there.

*****

Scott drives down to see him two weeks later.

“Tell me what’s up,” he says bluntly when Derek opens the door.

Derek waves him inside. “Good to see you, too.”

“Isaac told me about your talk.” Scott looks at him expectantly. “What’s going on, Derek?”

A muscle pulses in Derek’s jaw. “Nothing. Bad dreams.”

Scott gives him a weird look. “I talked to my mom mostly, after it happened,” he says eventually. “A few therapists. Stiles’ dad, of course. I’m still not ok, and I never _will_ be completely, but I’m at the point where I can remember the good stuff too, instead of just being sad when I picture his face.” He folds his arms protectively over his chest. “I’ve probably talked with everybody in the pack about it at least once or twice, but never with you. I guess I just assumed it wouldn’t hit you that hard.”

“What.” Derek feels like he’s been slapped. He blinks. “Why would you think that?”

“Well. You know.” Scott shrugs. “You two kinda got on each other’s nerves, if we’re gonna go with an understatement.”

Derek bites the inside of his cheek. He leans against the wall for about a minute of stewing quietly before grabbing ahold of Scott’s shirt and dragging him up the stairs. He takes him down the hall and flings open the bedroom door. “There,” he says coldly. “There you go.”

Scott looks at him like he’s gone insane. He glances cautiously around the room. “What am I supposed to be seeing here, man?”

“Who is this room for?” Derek says.

“Uh, you. It’s your-” Scott stops. He _looks_.

There’s a king size bed. Two bedside tables. The closet is half-filled, with one side left untouched. Through the bathroom door, there are two sinks visible, again with one side left bare and unused.

Scott stares at Derek, stunned. “You loved him,” he says disbelievingly. “You still do.”

Derek’s fists clench at his sides. “It took me a long time to figure out. And by the time I did, it was too late.” He glances around the room. “This is just . . . my way of keeping him alive. For me.”

Scott’s eyes close, his face shuttered off and twisted in pain. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Derek laughs humorlessly. “So am I.”

*****

Sometimes Derek thinks about going off and living with Cora, leaving Beacon Hills behind forever. The Nemeton hasn’t drawn as many enemies as they’d initially feared, but there’s still so much sorrow. So many bad memories.

When it all becomes too much, he goes for lengthy runs along the side of the highway, calmed by the droning sound of passing cars. When summer arrives, he drives down to the lake and swims from one side to other and back, every weekend. It’s all routine, helps keep him sane.

He avoids the woods. The temptation to follow the path in his dreams is so great, he knows he’ll be lost if ever dares to venture that way.

He keeps himself busy. He works at an auto shop now, and Isaac and Allison need plenty of help planning for their wedding. The sheriff invites him over for football and drinks every once in a while. There’s stuff to do.

It still mostly feels like counting down the hours until he eventually dies.

*****

On the last day of July he comes home to find an intruder in his house.

Derek growls, eyes flashing. His claws are out in an instant. “Who are you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

There's a young man standing by the counter, hunched over with his back to Derek, examining the pictures Derek had taken of the pack on their trip to the beach a few weeks ago. “Hey, Derek.” He turns around.

Derek jerks back, claws receding. He stares. “Jackson?”

The kid has aged. His hair looks unkempt, his wardrobe makes him look homeless. He looks like hasn’t shaved in a while, or slept in longer than that. “There’s a group of hunters coming to kill all of you,” he says. “They’re coming soon.”

Derek takes a hesitant step forward. “What are you talking about?” he says slowly. “Why are you here?”

Jackson coughs into his sleeve, leaning against the counter for support. “Long fucking story. I’d be happy to explain, but we’re kind of on a tight schedule. Maybe it should wait.”

“What do they want with us?” Derek asks, already dialing Scott’s number.

“From what I hear, it’s got something to do with a wolf called Deucalion? Heard of him?”

Derek grimaces. “Yes,” he says darkly. Scott picks up with a groggy hello. “Hey, it’s me. Emergency. Hunters. Warn the others. Get to the meeting spot.” He hangs up. “What about Deucalion?”

“Well, these hunters seem to believe you let him go free after he killed some people, and he ended up killing some of their guys. So I guess they blame you. But, whatever. They’re hunters. Do they really need a reason to shoot us other than we’re werewolves and they don’t _like that_?”

Derek pulls on his jacket and grabs Jackson by the front of his shirt. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

*****

The final shot rings out across the lacrosse field and all is silent.

Derek’s hands are shaking, covered in the blood of the man whose heart he just ripped from his chest, dripping red onto the green grass. He looks out over the scattered bodies and dismembered limbs to where the last of the pack is retreating into the woods.

Scott is cradling Lydia in his arms, his hair swept back and matted against his skull, sticky with gore. He looks back desperately, catches Derek’s eye. They communicate wordlessly:

_Are you sure?_

_I’ll be fine. Get out of here._

Scott nods reluctantly and disappears into cover. Derek sighs in relief. He hears a rasping, gurgling sound and turns to see one of the hunters dragging himself across the field towards the school. The man’s leg is bent backwards at the kneecap and he’s coughing up blood at an alarming rate.

Before Derek can do anything, Jackson staggers over and stomps the man’s head in with the heel of his shoe, shattering the skull.

“Just like old times, eh?” the werewolf says grimly.

Derek opens his mouth to respond, then stops dead. “You’re hit,” he says numbly, pointing.

Jackson touches a palm to his side where the bullet hole is still seeping blood. His veins are glowing black. He nods. “Yep.”

Police sirens sound out in the night, and red and blue flashing lights come hurtling down the road in their direction. Derek’s eyes dart around frantically. “We have to go,” he says. “We have to and get you help.” Jackson chuckles.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He winces as the pain intensifies, clutching at his wound. His mouth twists in a wry grin. “And now I won’t get to tell you about my adventures. You’re gonna be pissed later when you’re wondering what I’ve been up to.”

Derek feels frozen. He shakes his head stiffly. “Jackson . . .”

The boy flips him off. “Spare me. I’ve done this before. It ain’t so bad.” His casual smirk wavers briefly. “Although, if you get a chance, tell Danny I’m sorry he and I didn’t get to catch up.”

The sirens are too close now. There’s no more time for this. No time for fucking anything. Derek shifts and runs, with no destination in mind. He runs and gets out of there, as far away from the damage as he can, knowing it won’t be far enough.

Jackson turns and walks awkwardly towards the double doors leading inside the school. He squints as his eyes adjust to the change in light. He’s in the hall outside the gym, right near the trophy case.

He gets up close the glass and gazes at the row of medals and statuettes. In the center row at the top of the middle shelf, there’s a picture of his sophomore year lacrosse team. The night of their first big game.

He puts his palm against the display, leaving a crimson handprint on the glass.

When the cops burst in with their flashlights raised, they find him sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes and a peaceful smile frozen on his face.

*****

Stiles claps him on the shoulder. “Want to stick around for a while?” he says.

Jackson shrugs. “I think I’m good, actually. I think I’m done.” He smirks. “Unless you’re asking for _you_ , and you just want the company.”

“No, I’m ok with the quiet. And I won’t be alone forever.” Stiles grins, turning his head upward to gaze at the vast expanse of black above them. “Before you go, I’ve got to ask. Were you a good guy all along, and you just needed time to grow into it? Or were you really the bastard I remember, and you had to fucking _die_ to get inspired to change?”

Jackson socks him in the shoulder. “Maybe I’m still a bastard,” he says. “Who’s to say? Besides, I’m dead for good now, so I’m not anything anymore.”

Stiles gestures around, waves in a circle. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re _something_.”

Jackson snorts. He dusts off his pants and looks over his shoulder. “Well.” He holds out his hand. “Is this where I say that it’s been a pleasure?” he says sarcastically.

Stiles smiles. “Goodbye, Jackson,” he says softly.

Jackson winks. “See you ‘round.”

*****

The day of the funeral, Derek sits in his bathtub and tries to slit his wrists. They keep healing over, but he’s confident that if he keeps it up, he can lose enough blood for it to count.

He’s distracted and doesn’t hear when Isaac comes in thorough the front door downstairs. He jumps when the bathroom door bangs open, and the younger werewolf barges in, having smelled blood.

Isaac stares, wide-eyed, for all of three seconds before he’s grabbing a fistful of Derek’s hair and yanking him out of the tub and beating the shit out of him.

“You. Fucking. Asshole.” He emphasizes every word with a punch to the face. “You don’t get to do this!” he yells, throwing Derek against the wall. “Not a chance in hell!”

Derek flinches. Something breaks inside him and he starts crying openly in a way he hasn’t since he was very young. “I can’t do it anymore!” His voice doesn’t sound like his own; it’s an inhuman howl, dragged out of him in harsh gasps of air. “Everyone dies, and I have to be there and watch, and I’m _responsible_ , and I’m fucking done! I’m done with it! I’m not-”

Isaac shakes him roughly, but his anger is gone. His face is pale and he looks worried. “This was not your fault,” he says forcefully. “Jackson made the decision to come back here. For whatever reason, he came back instead of picking up a phone, and he got killed because those hunters made the decision to be shit human beings who shot people. None of that is on you.”

Derek twitches. “I can’t keep getting by unscathed while everyone I care about loses everything.”

Isaac touches his cheek. “You think _this_ is unscathed? Derek, I love you, but you’re more fucked up than any of us. Trust me, you’re not getting by. We’re all suffering together.” He swallows thickly, blinking back tears. “I know it hurts. But you can’t give up.”

Derek makes a small, helpless noise. “I can’t keep doing this,” he whispers. Isaac slaps him; not too hard, but firm.

“You can. You have to.” He grabs a towel off the rack and hands it to Derek so he can cover himself. “You want to talk about responsibility? Your pack is counting on you. Ok? So you’re going to get dressed and go say goodbye to a boy who saved our lives. You’re going to sit next to Lydia and hold her hand.” He leans forward and presses his forehead against Derek’s. “And then we’re going to get you some help. Alright?”

Derek closes his eyes. “Ok,” he says. “Yes.”

*****

His first session of therapy is on a Tuesday. It goes better than expected.

There are details he has to keep obscure for obvious reasons, but he talks freely about his feelings. Not just about recent events, but about the fire and Kate and his family. And Stiles. He pours himself out over the course of the hour, and by the end he feels simultaneously empty and relieved.

He feels clean in a way he hasn’t for years.

He gives Cora a call after the session is over and suggests meeting up for a visit sometime. They talk for an hour, and when they’re done he hangs up and drives home, then goes for a walk in the woods.

He doesn’t even notice where his feet are taking him until he snaps out of his daydreams and finds himself standing by the edge of the water. The fork in the river is just ahead. He takes the path to the left.

The cave looks weirdly unthreatening in the daytime. It’s just a hollow space inside a slab of rock. Derek climbs up over the boulders where the water is spilling over and enters into the dark.

It’s empty. There’s nothing here. No monsters, no bloodstains, no danger at all.

Derek is calm. He feels at peace. He walks deeper into the shadows.

He walks and walks until he can no longer see the light of the exit behind him. He can’t see a thing. All is quiet.

And then a boy in a red hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans steps out from the depths and stands before him.

Derek bites his lip. “Am I dreaming?” he says.

Stiles smiles sadly. “No. Not dreaming.”

Derek makes an aborted movement, reaching out and then thinking better of it. He takes a shaky breath. “What happened to you?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow teasingly. “Does it really matter?”

“It matters to me,” Derek says. “Everything about you matters to me.”

Stiles shakes his head. “You want to know if it hurt? Who did it? Or _what_ did it? What I was doing out here by myself, and why? Will it help you to hear those things?”

“I want to understand why the fuck I lost you before I ever had the chance to _have_ you,” Derek snarls. He looks away for a second, regains his composure. “I miss you like crazy. I feel like I’ll never be happy because I missed out on my soulmate.”

“You don’t believe in soulmates,” Stiles dismisses. “That’s not what this is.”

“Call it what you want. I loved you and I waited too long to tell you. I shouldn’t have waited.”

“You were right to wait.” Stiles shrugs. “I was sixteen. It would have been wrong of you not to wait. And you knew that. I’m glad you knew that.”

Derek glares out into the emptiness around them. “What am I supposed to do? Tell me what to do.”

“You already know.” Stiles looks at him fondly, his mouth twisted in a lopsided grin. “You don’t really need me to give you permission to go and be happy, do you?”

Derek huffs embarrassedly. “It kind of feels that way, sort of.”

Stiles steps nearer, so close they’re almost touching. Derek goes stiff, scared. Stiles leans over and murmurs in his ear. “Be happy. Take the ride.” He pulls away, steps back. “I’ll be waiting. Maybe we can go around again? Together?”

His smile is luminescent. He takes another step back. And another. All Derek can see of him now is his teeth, still stretched in a smile. Another step. Another.

He’s gone.

Derek feels wetness on his cheeks and reaches up to feel. He hadn’t realized he’d started crying. He pulls himself together and turns around. He walks out of the dark and into the daylight, steps back into the woods. And then he goes home.

\---------------------------------------------------

For his eighty-fifth birthday, Derek goes hiking in the Rocky Mountains. The lightning storm starts up when he’s drawing close to the peak. From the tree line he watches as the clouds turn all different shades of white and purple and sparks of electricity strike down all over the earth below. The sky pours down, and drenches everything.

Derek is just about to resume his climb when his heart gives out. He collapses facedown and doesn’t get up again.

By the time the storm passes, his body has been covered by snow.

\---------------------------------------------------

“You look like you’ll make first line.”

Derek startles, turning to face the owner of that voice. It’s a boy his age, wide-eyed and mole-spotted, cute but poorly dressed. “Excuse me?”

The boy points at the sheet on the wall. “Lacrosse. You’re trying out, right? So am I. My friend and I, we’re both trying out. We’re not very good, but we think it’ll be fun and I’m mostly just in it because the whole jock thing might give me a shot at not being a loser this year, which would be super helpful socially and whatnot. And I was just saying that you look like you could for sure make first line since you’re, you know, built and athletic looking. Not that I was looking. Well, I was, but I wasn’t _looking_ looking. Like, I’m not a perv. I just noticed and now I’m telling you and now I’m going to shut up and please don’t punch me in the nose, I’m sorry.”

Derek lets out a startled laugh. “Wow, you talk a lot,” he says with a baffled grin.

“That’s what I hear, cuz that’s what they say.” The boy extends his hand. “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Derek. Stiles? That’s an interesting name. ”

“I know, I saw on the sheet. And yeah, interesting is a nice word for it. Wait till you hear my real name.”

Derek’s mouth twitches. “You wanna eat lunch with me?” he says.

Stiles beams at him, and Derek does his best to ignore the fact that his heart is trying to turn a somersault.


End file.
